A Burning Chill
by Tanaki Wolf
Summary: This was my submission for the first ever Someone's PC writing contest. I had a lot of fun coming up with the background for this story. This contains my own thoughts on why the Alolan region has ice-type vulpixes, from the view of those very newcomers to the area.


**A Burning Chill**

The gentle breeze across the mountain sent flurries of snow dancing across the winter landscape, specks of white glistening in the afternoon sun before settling back into a fluffy powder, a soft layer muting the deep indentations made by a single creature trudging across the icy plain. This was of no concern to the six-tailed male, who continued his determined steps across the barren landscape, nearly bounding forward as he worked to get through the piles of snow that easily reached up to his tender amber belly. What would chill many an animal was merely an inconvenience to the vulpix, his body ever warm and able to combat the blustery climate of the mountain's peak. Centuries before any one species would dare to assert itself over the rest, the male felt confident in striding through the open lands, harbouring no fear of what he might encounter, foreign though his colour was against the milky ground.

The time before his kind's arrival on the mountain was lost to all those he knew; the few dozen who resided on the slopes were a generation removed from the storytellers who could convey the danger of ocean travel and the excitement of exploring new territory, all for the purpose of… well, nobody could remember why their recently deceased ancestors would bother with such a journey. Perhaps the rumours of a land bathed in endless sunlight, with warm beaches and a variety of exotic flora, were enough to lure a select few from the comfort of the mainland. Such tales were verifiably true: even in the snowy hills of the mountain, the sky shone with a blinding brightness that reflected off the fresh powder, forcing the lone creature to avert his gaze. If only the weather in the stories had been a little more temperate, perhaps the migrants would be enjoying this beautiful day on the shore instead of spending every day romping through icy banks to keep from overheating. Unforgiving summers would only lead to mild winters, so there was little point in the fire-types venturing down from the mountain for anything more than a day trip. Still, the lone wanderer wondered whether it would be so bad to bake in the oppressive heat of the island instead of shaking yet more snow off of his six tails.

Not that the clan hadn't adapted. The natural heat within their bodies was plenty to keep their temperature and spirits high, and with nobody left with experience living in other climates, daily life had cleanly adjusted to suit the windy, icy climate of the mountain. Everyone worked to keep the dens and caves clear of snow, to forage for smaller critters and other plentiful sources of food (both on and off the mountain), and to hide and protect from some of the larger, native inhabitants of the land. While it was certainly not the perfect setup, the encircling sea kept anyone from venturing out into the deep waters in search of another home.

This pondering left a question once again nagging at the back of the vulpix's mind, one that he had heard echoed numerous times throughout his circle of friends. If anything had remained from the old one's stories, it was the fiery nature of their kind, the burning core of their being that so easily allowed them to brave anything from towering inferno to molten rock. Surely such creatures, with an innate ability to thrive in such extreme conditions, should have no trouble with the warmth of a day at the beach and would not have to retreat to a chilly peak? These questions let the distracted male piece together his own story on why the clan might have left for greener (or as it turned out, whiter) pastures.

The secret may have rested in the most unsettling anomaly the group had experienced yet. Not a few days after his own arrival in this world, the women of the mountain began birthing, not rusty-coloured offspring, but instead kits with the palest coats anyone in the clan had ever seen. Time did not heal this illness; months had passed, and none of these lightly-shaded vulpixes had grown in the sepia fur that everyone was so familiar and comfortable with. That discomfort reflected violently, in pointed paws and raised voices and a deep unease in the group's dynamic that could still be felt lingering just beneath the surface, even as the pups grew into the off-white vixens and vulpines that everyone lo-… well, _tolerated_. With the sheer number of his generation that had experienced this genetic disorder, it would only be a matter of time before "minority" was no longer an appropriate description for the offspring of the snow.

This was, however, an intolerance only afforded to the parents. What did the lone wanderer care if his fellow companions were so strange-looking? Past first glance, the thickness of their fur was as protective against the cold, their teeth, just as sharp and ready for hunting, their eyes, perhaps a bit more beady, but otherwise expressing all the depth he would expect from a fully thinking, capable creature. It would do the clan no favours to isolate potential hunters and foragers just because of an unexplained deficiency, but there was always that tiny bit of unrest, simmering just below the surface.

Rapidly growing to maturity, the male was quite aware of these complicated social dances, as the season for his kind's mating rituals was upon all of them. It was as breezy and chilly as any other season, but marked with a much richer scent in the air, of more hushed giggles and of pairs of bodies popping out of strange, isolated places. And while he wouldn't expect any different this season, there was a nagging feeling of worry eating away at his mind. All the females born the same season as he was were of the snowy-furred variety, and while his social acceptance of his companions could not be questioned, he couldn't help but wonder if copulation would be without its consequences. A silly thought, for sure: he had no reason to believe that there was anything wrong with the bodies or minds of his pale friends. Likewise, his instincts had no qualms about finding the nearest one and showing her what it really meant to be satisfied.

He blamed these ill feelings on his desire to mate, an urge he still could not fully control, and this was the reason for his leaping and bounding through the snow – he knew the females would be out and about, and, having not heard any boasting from his male friends, likely burning with desire for a good mating. The small size of the mountain peak and the number of offspring his kind tended to produce made him confident that he would be enjoying a satisfying evening, perhaps even good enough to himself be the one boasting to others of his sexual prowess.

A twitch, a head turn, a flurry of snow, and the vulpix caught sight of one of those snowy vixens, her head scanning the powdered ground for something. As luck would have it, he recognised her as one of the girls he was quite familiar with. Not on a personal level, no, but she had long since captured his attention as one of the prime specimens of his kind. The untrained eye would have an impossible time distinguishing the young women apart from one another, but for a creature who had spent their entire life among familiar faces, every member of the group presented their own distinctive markings and body types, gentle curves and peaks whose seductive shapes could cause a change in any male's contours, particularly between the haunches.

Such an effect was certainly taking hold of the wanderer; the object of his affection had a face that nobody could deny as beautiful, but for him, it was the only thing he could ever want to stare at, the only reason he had to be wandering alone in snow drifts. It was the perfect face for him, and the body that went along with it was something he wanted just as desperately. Even at a distance, the sweet scent of pheromones, already thick in the atmosphere during this season, became that much more alluring, stirring something deep and primal in his body. The wind that carried such an intoxicating scent his way pelted his eyes with flecks of ice, but no stinging was harsh enough to pull his gaze from the wonderful creature standing in the snow.

There was no tact or complex courtship ritual when it came to vulpix mating. The only thing that prevented the male from taking his target right then and there was the stiffness in his legs, similar to the one he was experiencing in his crotch, frozen by the beauty of the female, who, as if aware of his presence, had turned her back to him, digging into the snow with her pristine muzzle. Likely, she was searching for a light snack crawling under the snow, but to him, it was a personalised invitation, her tails curled up and showing off just how moist her mound was. Clearly, the vixen at least as needy as the other members of the tribe, and the male planned to use that to his full advantage.

With the snow as deep as it was, the wanderer had a perfect opportunity to demonstrate his grace and poise, charging through the snow with all the elegance of a boulder rolling down a hill, ready to crush the object of his lust with intimate affection. The powder only partially softened the crunching sound his paws made with each step, so the female had a few seconds of warning before impact, her head twisting and turning curiously as she looked behind her, just in time to see one horny-looking vulpix launch himself at her backside. She let out a small gasp of surprise, fur bristling and toes curling as her body prepared to flee, but by the time she was able to respond the male had already latched his paws around her middle, snagged on her body like a tuft of fur on an oversized branch.

This was not how the vixen had imagined her day unfolding. Now unable to free herself, her gaze searched for the wanderer's through the snowy tails brushing about his face, immediately aware of his intent but searching for confirmation behind his blank stare. The male eyed her with equal curiosity and took the fact that she wasn't trying to kick him in the groin as an excellent sign that his efforts would be rewarded. It seemed that instinct would override both of their minds, wordlessly conveying to each other concepts like "I need you to rut me" and "please let me stick my dick in something".

Even in such close proximity to relief, the demure female found herself able to resist the urge to abruptly sit back on her partner's crotch. She used her power of control to simply shift her hips from side to side, her tails tickling across the male's nose and adjusting her warm backside against his belly. Every move she made was designed to further entice her partner, waiting on edge for the moment when she would feel his stupor break and his arousal press into her. And oh, did her body yearn for that moment, small drips of feminine juices running down the fur below her bare, puffed mound, the source of the unbearably strong smell that made the male cling to her as though his life depended on it.

She could delay no longer, so it was fortunate that the male gained enough awareness to hop his hindquarters closer, back curling with paws still firmly around his target. This gave him the leverage needed to start humping away at the vixen's backside, his well-formed arousal hitting all the wrong spots and even clumsily dipping into the snow. This only served to agitate the female, who kicked one of her back legs in frustration, sending flurries behind the pair. She wasn't any more experienced than the other vulpix, but that was no excuse for him to be so very bad at penetrating her.

The wanderer was coherent enough to notice what a mess he was making of this, but that only caused him to thrust more erratically, as if more force would make his length miraculously find its resting place. In the end, however, that's exactly what happened, one of his desperate hip bucks sending his burning need directly into his partner's spade, the tapered shaft sinking in with ease all the way up to the top of the knot. An unidentifiable noise from both of the creatures was a signal that all was right with the world, both of them satisfied with the combination of their warmth.

It was a pleasant, though not entirely unexpected, surprise to the male that his partner was as warm as he could ever imagine one of his kind to be. Her creamy coating hid a molten interior that made him melt into her body, contrasting colours bleeding together as he began his steady thrusting into the vixen's body. That bulb-based length pressed time and again into the needy female, her mound quivering and clenching on the male in an effort to coax him back inside every time he brought his hips back, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through both of the vulpines.

Lost in the pleasure of mating with the most attractive creature he had ever seen, the wanderer focused on his own satisfaction through the incessant pounding of his partner's plush rear. Those warm folds were the perfect bedding for his arousal, and his body worked overtime to try burying his entire length, knot and all, inside the female. His exploration of his own mind and senses left him unaware of how his partner was doing, and her face started to tell a story that differed from his own fairy tale.

The vixen's expression, at first twisted in pleasure, became more frustrated and uncomfortable as the male enjoyed himself on her backside. She felt his heat, oh yes, but what was originally a throbbing pleasure had quickly turned into a burning, almost scorching rod of torture, her mound leaking lubrication to try and quell the fire pressing into her time and again. She would have never expected mating to be like this, her pleasure dropping with each passing second, replaced with a need to cool down, to find respite from the unique pain taking over her nerves. What had been moans of contentment now turned into groans of complaint, but no sounds could deter the vulpix behind her.

Her body knew that fleeing was no longer an option in this situation, and began combating the burn the only way it could manage. The vixen's fur bristled as she felt a temperature change once again, feeling a chill of relaxation from her very core, internal temperature sinking as she fought for her right to feel at ease. This, the wanderer did notice, and by the time he popped his knot into her mound, he was quite taken aback by how much cooler his partner felt, both inside and out. This did nothing to abate his climax, however, but the ropes of sticky, potent seed that would fertilise the female's body carried with them a temperature even less palatable than the heat of his shaft. As far as her instincts were concerned, this would not do.

The struggling from the male turned from a rhythm of copulation to frantic jerking, rather not enjoying the sudden icy sensation around his length, that was also now travelling up his paws and chilling his belly as is was forced against his partner's six tails. His displeasure was vocalised, but as he let out yips of displeasure, the vixen became silent, all of her focus on this new absolutely freezing energy in the centre of her body, building, growing, overtaking her and making her numb to all else. A single sharp gasp was the last noise the wanderer heard, and his eyes were left with the sight of the most beautiful creature he had ever seen exploding in a flurry of ice.

Time unknown passed between the female's climax and her return to the less-pleasurable sensations of the real world. This delay should have meant the satisfied departure of her partner, or at least the decidedly _less_ satisfying jerk of his knot inside of her, but she still felt the heavy weight pressing to her back, abnormally motionless in contrast to the recent thrusts of need. With some bucking and jerking, she freed herself from her partner's stoic embrace, turning to find the male already lying crumpled in the snow, as immobile as the foliage casting its shadows over the plain.

* * *

A human gingerly cleaned snow away from an already bleached-white object buried in the frozen ground, her brush caressing the fairly intact remains of a skull embedded in the slopes of Mount Lanakila. Her research group had been privileged a dig on the mountain before construction of a new Pokémon league began, and what an opportunity it turned out to be.

She turned to one of her fellow researchers. "Another. The same vulpix shape, but a shortened muzzle, larger eye sockets, all traits of mainland vulpixes."

The partner set down his tools and trudged over, shivering even in his thick parka and inspecting the artefact. "Sure looks like it. Just evidence that Alolans adapted from their mainland counterparts, peh, nothing much." He grumbled as he blew on his mitt-covered hands. "Wish we were learnin' somethin' more interesting here."

The female researcher wore a weary smile. "There's still much to learn. Adapting types is one thing, but what would make former fire-types take on such strong ice-type traits?" She briefly flipped through her notes. "Even with centuries to work with, what would cause former fire-types to learn a move as extreme as Sheer Cold? There's still a lot of questions for us to answer."

The male's response was terse. "We'll find out more after we go warm up again. If I were a fire type, I'd sure get tired of this weather pretty quickly." He turned away, fighting his way through snow drifts back to camp.

The woman lingered a moment longer, staring into the empty eyes of the bones as if it would give her answers. "...yeah, okay." She placed the item in her bag, turning away from the dig and following her fellow researcher to a warmth long since absent from this part of the island.


End file.
